"Twenty 'ic year?" says drunken Simon. " Well—an' you've had it 'ic all the time?"
"Yes—never goes out o' my hands."
"I notice—'ic—that these bills hain't bin printed, 'cording to their dates, 'ic—more ner three years—'ic—ole man," gulps Rugg.
This was a poser!
But Sam picked them all up, and said, "Well, let's go an' get what you want at the store, an' we'll come back together."
"So we will," responds Simon, stumbling to his feet. "I muss git the cotton for the ole 'oman." And away they trudged.
As soon as they enter the shop, Rugg says quietly to the proprietor, "Did this old fellow buy some cambric here to-day?"
"Yes—an hour ago," responds the store man.
"What did he pay for it with?"
"This," answers the shop-keeper, turning out the $10 Newburg bill, instanter.
"It's a counterfeit," says Rugg, coolly.
"No," exclaims Sam; "that can't be. I'll take it right back where I got it, if that's so. I'm a ole man, an' my eyes is none o' the best. How they do take advantage of a poor ignorant ole creetur, whenever they can!"
And the tears came into the ancient hypocrite's peepers, as he contemplated the extent of this outrage.
Sam fumbles his pockets, and gets out ten good dollars, and in apparent deep distress, he is about to depart, when Rugg (who has suddenly become sober!) asks old Sam if all his money is like this, which, it seems, is just like that which has been wormed out of the hollow cane. To which Sam says he "railly can't say, his eyes is so bad he can't see."
